


'Til I Wake Your Ghost

by meyghasa (aazeris)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Body Worship, Ghost Sex, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, background dimiclaude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25453153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aazeris/pseuds/meyghasa
Summary: After Sylvain dies in a tragic, unexpected car accident, Felix is left with unbearable grief.  But as time goes by, weird things start happening, and Felix suspects maybe Sylvain isn't quite as lost as he thought.Or, Felix gets a ghost boyfriend: the saga
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 42
Kudos: 188





	'Til I Wake Your Ghost

His shoulder is definitely dislocated.

Sylvain wonders, distantly, if he has a concussion from where his head smacked the dashboard on the way in, too. Everything is a little blurry around the edges, but that could also be because he is drunk.

Drunk like Miklan, who is behind the wheel, pressing down on the accelerator like his life fucking depends on it.

Pressing a hand to his forehead, feeling for a lump there, Sylvain feels a vague flash of panic. He does not want to be in this car. He protested, loudly and adamantly, until Miklan wrenched his arm and damn near _threw_ him into the passenger seat. 

They are going so fast, and the road is narrow and twisting, and the trees are pressing in on each side, and Sylvain is more terrified than he has ever been in his life.

It is not a surprise when Miklan jerks the wheel to the right to overcompensate for a turn, when the car goes careening at a good 80 mph into a tree, when Sylvain, who is not seatbelted, flies through the windshield and crashes into the brush with multiple broken bones and internal injuries.

There is no guiding light. There are no past relatives waiting to greet him. There is only darkness and a sad realization.

_I’m breaking the promise. I’m sorry, Felix._

\---

**Sylvain:** this party blows. there aren’t even any cute girls here to flirt with. miklan is being an ass big surprise. wish you were here <3

Felix brushes a thumb over his phone screen, a touch more tender than any he has made in his life, then sets the phone on his bedside table face-down. He lies back down and curls in on himself. It has been five days since Sylvain… left. Felix won’t allow himself to think the word _died_. He can’t. 

His chest is tight, the grief threatening to choke him. It comes in waves, washing over him from head to toe, leaving him shaking and desperate. _Just one more_ , he keeps thinking. One more visit. One more text message. One more easy smile or one-armed hug. One more _anything_ , and Felix would give _anything_ for it. 

It’s like losing Glenn all over again, but this time, he thinks with a sharp stab of guilt, is so much worse.

There’s so much left unsaid. So many things Felix could never find the words for. Gestures he never made. And now… now he will never have the opportunity. The sorrow of missed chances feels like a stone in his stomach.

He didn’t go to the funeral. _Couldn’t_ go to the funeral. It felt too real. Too final. Seeing Sylvain in death would have been too much for him to handle, and despite Ingrid’s surprisingly gentle protests he had spent the day curled up in bed, as he has for the past five days, every conversation he’s ever had with Sylvain in his life playing on repeat in his head. 

The image of Sylvain’s bright expression as he stood in Felix’s doorway holding two containers of curry from their favorite Almyran place is burned onto Felix’s retinas. He remembers every detail of that last encounter. Sylvain was wearing a dark green, v-neck t-shirt. Black cargo shorts. Ridiculous black sandals that Felix hated. He had sunglasses propped on top of his head, resting in his unruly hair made even more unruly by the late-summer humidity. But it’s the smile, his real, genuine smile that he seems to only save for Felix that Felix remembers most.

 _Seemed_ to only save, Felix thinks distantly. _Because everything is in past tense now_.

He hasn’t cried. Not once. For someone who cries quite easily despite his admittedly prickly exterior, this has surprised not only himself but also his friends. He figures they probably assume that he is crying at home, alone, curled in bed. Well he is at home, alone, curled in bed, but the tears won’t come. He almost wants them to. He wants some kind of release of all the emotions swelling up inside him like a riptide.

Jan jumps up on the bed with him and headbutts his hand, which is faintly curled on the bed in front of his chest. He purrs and lets out a little chirping meow to get Felix’s attention. What time is it? Has he even fed Jan today? Has he eaten or done literally anything but lay here for the past day?

The thought of food turns Felix’s stomach so he will pass, but he knows Jan is not in the same state and will not allow him to forget to feed him. Slowly, Felix drags himself out of bed. His body feels like it is being weighed down by six hundred pounds of sand. Every step is a monumental effort. His stomach is roiling and for a brief moment he feels like he is going to be sick. But the moment passes, and he makes it to the kitchen, and he feeds Jan, and then he is blessedly back in bed.

Picking up his phone is like an addiction. He can’t help himself when he enters the passcode and opens his photo app. There are so few pictures there, and he hates himself for it now, but the photos that are there are almost always full of Captain Semi-Narcissist Sylvain. 

“I want you to have something to remember me by when we’re not together,” Sylvain had said with a laugh after the twelfth time of trying to cajole Felix into a selfie with him. Sylvain is downright beaming, scant freckles speckled across his nose and his brown eyes shining bright. His arm is slung around Felix’s shoulders, holding him close, and Felix looks pouty-verging-on-mutinous, his eyes looking off to the side as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Felix looks at it now and aches.

He holds his phone to his chest and closes his eyes. This one is the most painful of them all, because it was that day, watching Sylvain kneel down and dangle a feather toy in front of Jan, watching him smile so tenderly at Felix’s cat, that Felix almost blurted out the most serious truth.

 _I love you_ , he thinks now, as he did then. _I love you so much_.

But he didn’t say it then, and he never worked up the courage to say it again afterwards. Now, it is too late, and Felix aches and aches and aches.

A shiver runs through him and he grabs the comforter to pull up around his shoulders. He curls up in the fetal position with the phone clutched in his hand, held to his chest, and closes his eyes. Again the tears threaten, gathering at the corner of his eyelids. Again, he can’t make them come. He will get no release from this agony.

The sleeping pills he took an hour ago are starting to work their magic. He feels the fuzzy onset of medicated sleep coming over him, but he doesn’t release his death grip on his phone or open his eyes. He pretends he is holding Sylvain close to his chest instead.

“I love you,” he whispers to the empty room.

As he drifts off, he swears he feels a cold hand run through his hair, but he writes it off as the sleeping pill playing tricks on him.

\---

Felix wakes up to the smell of food cooking and a cold brush of air across his cheek. It has been nine days since Sylvain left him. He has spent eight and a half of those nine days in bed, overdosing on sleeping pills and ignoring his health. What’s the point now, anyway?

It’s an unkind thought, given that someone who cares about him (undoubtedly Annette) is making dinner - breakfast, lunch? What time is it? - in his kitchen. He briefly regrets giving out a key to his apartment but as his stomach traitorously rumbles, he guesses it’s not the worst thing.

Scrubbing his eyes, he stumbles out of bed, leg muscles atrophied from nine days of disuse. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror above his dresser and goddess, he looks absolutely awful. Dark, dark circles like bruises under his eyes. Hair ratty and greasy and disheveled. He looks lanky where he used to look sleek. Sylvain’s old t-shirt, the one he left at Felix’s house and that Felix has not taken off in nine days, hangs off his frame, oversized on the best of days but especially huge now. 

He needs a shower. He needs food. He needs to take better care of himself, no matter how much he is wishing that he could fulfill the promise right now.

Suicide by caring too little. It would be ironic, for someone who cares so much about so much.

Almost by habit, he picks up his phone and unlocks it. His photos app is already open, already on the picture of Sylvain. His throat closes up, but he still manages to croak, “I miss you.”

He swears he can smell a sudden whiff of Sylvain’s cologne, spicy and comforting, but he figures it’s from wearing the shirt.

Putting his phone back on the bedside table, he slips out of his bedroom and heads for the kitchen. Sure enough, Annette is there, earbuds in her ears as she stirfries something or another at his stove. He walks over and taps her on the shoulder, causing her to jump about sixteen feet in the air and spin around. The surprise of the tap seems to pale in comparison to the shock of seeing him like _this_ , judging from the look on her face: alternating pity and disgust.

Annette pulls the earbuds out of her ears and pockets them. “Oh, Felix,” she says quietly. She extends her arms, quite charitably given the fact that he must stink to high heaven, and ignoring his pang of self-hatred he lets himself be embraced, his arms still at his sides as he just leans into it. His head hangs low - almost low enough to reach her shoulder - and she slowly rubs circles between his shoulder blades.

They stay like that until she needs to tend to the food. “When is the last time you ate?” she asks gently. He shrugs in response; he honestly can’t remember. “Well, it’s time for you to get a good meal, whenever it was. Eat, and then a hot shower, okay?”

He shrugs again and takes a seat at the island. Whatever she wants. He doesn’t care.

She finishes the stir fry and portions it out on two plates. His is way too full, and he will never be able to finish it. His stomach is already cramping. Still, when she looks at him expectantly, he starts to eat little bites, the food tasting like ashes. She seems happy, though, smiling softly as she eats her own food. He is immensely relieved that she seems to understand his need for silence and doesn’t try to carry on conversation.

As expected, he can only manage about half the plate before he pushes it away. Annette frowns, but doesn’t comment. Instead, she pats his shoulder. “Go take a hot shower. Wash your hair, put on clean clothes. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

He will take a shower, and he will wash his hair. He will not, however, relinquish Sylvain’s shirt, and she can’t make him.

Felix drags himself to the bathroom. It feels like he is floating outside himself, watching himself turn on the water, watching himself step into the shower, watching himself tilt his head down and let the spray run over his hair. If not for the feeling of stir fry sitting heavy in his stomach, he wouldn’t feel real at all. His motions are automatic as he washes himself, washes his hair, and stands motionless under the water. He doesn’t know how long he stands there, hating everything, feeling the sour taste of loss on his tongue.

Finally he steps out of the shower. As he towels himself off, he glances at the mirror above the sink, and freezes.

Written in the condensation is a very wobbly, “hi.”

Felix rubs his eyes fiercely, then looks again. It definitely says “hi.” It’s soft, almost invisible, and shaky like a child’s handwriting, but there is no mistaking it. Unless he’s hallucinating, which he doesn’t actually put past himself at the moment, but he is pretty sure that this is real.

He wraps the towel around his hips and shouts for Annette. She bursts into the bathroom ten seconds later, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?!”

“Do you see that?” Felix points to the mirror. Drops of condensation are dripping into the word, making it almost illegible, but that “hi” is burned into his vision. He needs to know he’s not crazy.

Annette leans forward and squints. “Did you draw something? I can’t tell what it is.”

“So you see something there. Something is definitely there. Right?”

“Felix, are you okay? You’re scaring me.” Annette turns to him, her eyebrows drawn together. 

“Never mind,” he says, stepping away from her. “It’s nothing.”

But it doesn’t _feel_ like nothing. He just wishes he knew what it meant.

\---

Annette talks him into a movie he doesn’t pay attention to, and afterwards she blessedly leaves him alone. He didn’t fail to notice the concerned looks she kept shooting him when she thought he wasn’t looking, or the extra helpings of stir fry she wrapped up and put in his fridge.

Felix knows he is not dealing with this well. He’s not an idiot.

Deep down he knows that it was good to have some human interaction, to have some time when he wasn’t so lost to his grief that he couldn’t speak. Not that he spoke much, or often, but he finds himself functionally incapable of ignoring Annette even on the worst of days, so she was able to drag some bits of conversation out of him. Now that she’s gone, though…

He drags himself to the bathroom and opens the bottle of sleeping pills. As he’s shaking two out into his palm, his eyes automatically go to the spot on the mirror where the “hi” was written. It is, of course, gone now, but he can still see it in his mind’s eye. His brow furrows as he contemplates the message again. He had definitely seen it. He knows that with absolute clarity. He just doesn’t know how it got there.

It isn’t worth thinking about anymore today. He throws the pills back dry and shuffles into his bedroom. Briefly he is thankful to Annette for also getting him out of bed, and lord knows he needs to wash his sheets too - but that’s not the only laundry he needs to do, and he will be damned if he is getting rid of Sylvain’s scent, faint but still present, on this damn shirt.

He drops onto the bed with a soft oof and curls in on himself, the comforter bunched up at his feet. The expected playback of moments with Sylvain starts almost immediately as he squeezes his eyes shut and lets the pain wash over him. 

Felix isn’t sure when he drifted off, but he wakes to the feeling of being watched. Blearily his eyes open and he does a quick survey of the room, freezing in shock when his gaze lands on the foot of the bed.

There, sitting cross-legged next to Felix’s feet, is Sylvain.

He’s wearing a white button-down shirt and black trousers and the dopiest smile Felix has ever seen on him. Felix jerks upright, eyes wide, and the smile immediately drops from Sylvain’s face. A look of surprise takes up residence directly after. 

“Sylvain?” Felix croaks. His voice feels rusty, plagued by bits of broken glass. 

“You can see me, Felix?” Sylvain whispers. He scoots forward until he is next to Felix’s knees, resting one hand opposite Felix’s legs so he can lean over him and get a good look at his face. When Felix says nothing - is unable to say anything - his look of surprise morphs into concern. But, like Sylvain always does, he tries to cover the moment with humor. “I didn’t break you, did I?” he chuckles.

Felix swallows hard. This is everything he ever wanted. His _one more_. And even if this is a dream - which it must be, _obviously_ \- he will take it. “You’re here,” he says, his voice weak.

“Where else would I be?” Sylvain says gently. “Of course I’d be with you. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“I need to tell you--”

“Shh. I know. I always knew. You don’t have to say it.” Sylvain smiles, his eyes soft. 

Felix is just about to reach for him when a blaring ringtone interrupts them. He curses as he feels the dream slipping away. “Sylvain, wait, no--”

“Don’t worry. I’ll always find you, Fe. We made a promise, remember?”

Felix abruptly wakes up. Looking down at his phone, which he fell asleep clutching, he sees Dimitri’s photo on the screen. With a yell of frustration - _the fucking boar_ \- he throws his phone across the room, where it lands with a dull thud that indicates it _probably_ isn’t broken. 

He can still hear Sylvain’s voice. Still see his dumb smile and gentle eyes. “Goddess damnit,” he whispers, softly and emphatically. “Fuck.”

\---

Annette settles on the couch next to Ashe. Felix is in the leather recliner. He looks like shit, he knows, but at least he showered and got dressed. At Annette’s insistence he did not put Sylvain’s shirt back on, because it has been three weeks and yes, it stopped smelling like Sylvain and more like sweat and body odor at least a week ago. He feels bereft without it, though.

He also found it lying on the floor outside the hamper yesterday, and he wonders what the hell _that_ is about.

This is not the only strange thing that has happened. He keeps hearing things, little taps and creaks and noises he attributes to the building settling - but this is a new building, so that doesn’t hold up under scrutiny. Then there’s Jan’s behavior over the past few nights. He has repeatedly sat down beside Felix and stared unblinking seemingly at nothing at the foot of his bed. He doesn’t seem disturbed, just watchful, curious. Felix is curious too.

Sometimes he’ll just be going about his business, heating up takeout or sitting on the couch watching nonsense television - because he does get out of bed these days, _makes_ himself - and the hairs on the back of his neck will rise like he’s being watched. There is never anyone there, and he keeps the blinds tightly closed now just in case someone is watching from outside. It hasn’t helped. He still feels someone watching him.

On occasion, things will be out of place. Felix is a fastidious person, everything as it should be, and he notices when the slightest thing is off. One time, it’s his hairbrush, pushed two inches to the right. The pen he has attached to a notepad on the fridge on the floor. A rumpled spot at the foot of his bed that seems too mussed to attribute to rolling around in his sleep - he swears it looks like someone was sitting there, but that’s crazy.

Of his friends, Ingrid is the only one who doesn’t treat him with kid gloves. Sylvain was _her_ friend too, she insists, and you don’t see her lying in bed for three weeks, eschewing company in favor of her cat. It’s time to rejoin the world outside his door, she says. Felix isn’t polite about telling her to fuck off, because she has _no right_ to tell him how to grieve, childhood friend or not.

Everyone else is careful, gentle. Afraid to bring up Sylvain, and for good reason. Felix can’t talk about him, not yet. He has tried, but the best he was able to do was murmur to Jan how much he missed the stupid idiot. 

He had heard a particularly loud thump from the bathroom that night, but couldn’t find the cause of it.

Annette and Ashe have insisted on dinner and a movie, because apparently he “needs to eat something besides toast” and “needs to have some company for one night.” He doesn’t necessarily disagree, and they all learned a long time ago that he can’t refuse Annette anything, so here they are, full of a disappointingly tame curry and ready to watch some old movie he can’t remember the name of. 

The movie isn’t bad, he decides. He’s just distracted, because one of the main characters is a ghost, and it’s got him thinking.

As the credits roll, he turns to the couch. “Annie,” he says, his voice somber. “I think something is happening in my apartment.”

Annette and Ashe raise their eyebrows in unison. “Something like what?”

Felix shrugs. “I don’t know. Weird shit I can’t explain has been going on.” He doesn’t want to say what he’s thinking, that this started three weeks ago when _his best friend died_ and isn’t that a little _coincidental_? 

“Oh, Felix,” Annette says, voice full of pity as she reaches over and pats his hand. “You’re grieving. It’s only natural that things will seem a little off for a while.”

“It’s not that,” he snaps, and when he jerks his hand away she sits back with a hurt expression that he feels guilty about, but does not apologize for. 

“What do you think it could be?” Ashe asks gently. “What kind of things have been happening?”

Felix goes into it, in as little detail as possible, and by the end of his explanation Annette and Ashe are wide-eyed and curious. 

“Do you think it could be--” Annette lowers her voice to a conspirator’s whisper “--a ghost?”

Ashe squeaks.

“I don’t really believe in ghosts,” Felix says noncommittally, despite the fact that this is exactly the same conclusion he has come to.

As soon as he says it, the door to his bedroom at the end of the hall, well in view of all present, slams open with a bang. Felix is just about to ask what the fuck when it slams closed again hard enough to rattle the fucking walls. Annette and Ashe scream in unison, Annette clutching her hands to her chest and Ashe covering his eyes.

Things are quiet for a few minutes, the only sound the commingled quick breaths of his friends. Honestly Felix is a little startled too; this is worlds beyond anything that’s happened so far. He doesn’t say it, but he thinks, _Sylvain_?

“That… that was definitely supernatural,” Ashe stammers. “There’s no possible explanation for that. Right?” Annette nods her head fiercely in agreement. 

Felix shrugs, keeping his thoughts to himself. “I guess. I don’t know.” He briefly wonders if they’re about to get another demonstration to punish him for his uncertainty, but everything remains quiet. 

“Felix, I think we need help,” Annette says. Her eyes are so big and pleading. “You know Mercie does those readings, right? What if we asked her what’s going on?”

“Oh come on,” Felix huffs. “You can’t honestly be asking me to go to a psychic right now.”

“It’s not a bad idea!” Ashe insists. “At the very least you could possibly find out who, or what, it is. And you know Mercedes won’t judge you. We’ll even go with you, right Annie?”

“Of course! Come on, Felix. What’s the harm? It’ll get you out of the house, and you can find out what’s going on. I think it’s the perfect solution. I’ll call Mercie tonight and see when she can fit you in, okay?”

Felix rolls his eyes. Annette is definitely not going to stop pestering him until he goes through with this ridiculous plan. “Fine. Whatever.”

\---

Mercedes’s space is in a church, of all places, and Felix thinks that is ridiculous. On the other hand, Mercedes always professes faith-based healing and she is pretty well known for her powers of intuition, healing, and communication with the beyond. That it’s all based on faith in the goddess is just beside the point.

The church is massive, housing a cathedral and a number of offices and other rooms in a wing leading off to the side of the building. It is towards this wing that Annette, Felix, and Ashe head. Mercedes should be waiting for them, prepared or preparing for this, what, séance? Psychic reading? Haunting gone wrong? Felix doesn’t know what, in fact, they are going to accomplish here, but Annette and Ashe are gung-ho about it, so he goes along with it just to make them happy - or shut them up.

This is the first time Felix has been out of his apartment in three and a half weeks. The sunlight seems absolutely blinding, and he feels like it isn’t fair that it’s a bright, sunshiny day when he is consumed by grief, raw with it. It feels like the sun is mocking him.

The trio enters through a side door and Annette leads them to Mercedes’s room with the ease of familiarity. She knocks twice at the door they stop at and they are welcomed by a soft, “come in” from within.

“Mercie!” Annette exclaims as soon as they are inside. She sweeps Mercedes into a tight hug that is happily received. 

Ashe is next, hugging with a big smile. Only Felix stands by the door, arms crossed, feeling uncomfortable and out of place. Mercedes turns to him and smiles warmly. “It’s good to see you, Felix,” she says in her customary soft voice. “I’m so honored that you came to me with your issue.”

His _issue_ , like he’s here for fucking counseling or something. He immediately bristles, but Annette touches his shoulder, just the briefest touch, and he settles down. “Thanks for having us,” Annette says on Felix’s behalf. “We really appreciate your time and talent!”

“Of course,” Mercedes smiles. She gestures to the table in the center of the room, around which sit four chairs. “Please, take a seat and we can begin.”

They all shuffle into their seats. Felix sits directly across from Mercedes, flanked by Annette and Ashe. Mercedes lights one candle despite it being practically noon and bright as hell in the room, and Felix wonders why all this mystical shit requires so much theatre. 

“Now, let’s begin. Felix, you think there is a presence attached to you, correct?”

Felix forces himself to be cordial, even though he thinks this whole thing is the biggest waste of time. “Something like that,” he says gruffly.

“And you want to know what, or who, this presence is?”

“I guess.”

Mercedes smiles, not put off by his attitude in the slightest. “Very well. If you could all be very quiet for a moment, I’ll see what I can do.”

They are silent. Felix is surprised they don’t have to chant or hold hands or something. He is expecting absolutely nothing to come of this “session.” The best they will get is Mercedes making something up about who knows what, and the worst they will get is the nothing he expects.

What he does not expect is for Mercedes to open her eyes, her _suddenly brown eyes_ , and look directly at Felix.

His heart stops. They are a different shape in a different face, but he knows those eyes. Could pick those eyes out of a line-up any day. 

There’s no way. There’s _no fucking way_.

“Felix,” Mercedes says, and her voice sounds so different. Not _right_ , not _exact_ , but close enough that Annette clutches her hands to her chest with wide eyes and Ashe gasps audibly. Felix says nothing, does nothing except clench his hands into fists in his lap. He doesn’t trust the hope flaring in his chest. 

“Hey,” she says softly, _tenderly_ , and Felix feels his stomach lurch.

There’s no way this can possibly be happening. He got in the shower per Annette’s request, fell, hit his head, and is now hallucinating this whole thing. There’s no other explanation.

At least a minute of silence goes by, during which Mercedes gazes at him with those soft brown eyes that have seen past every prickly lie Felix has ever told since he was six. It’s like she’s waiting for him to say something, but he can’t. He doesn’t trust his voice.

“Fe,” Mercedes says after the silence drags on too long. “You know it’s me. You can talk to me. I’m here, and I’m listening.”

“But you’re gone,” is the only thing Felix can manage to say. To Felix’s endless frustration, now is the time of all times that he feels the threat of tears clogging his throat, burning his eyes. “You… you’re gone.”

“I know.” Mercedes’s reply is soft, her gaze dipping down to the spot near Felix’s hip. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

One tear escapes. Felix hates himself for it, especially when Annette, Ashe, and Mercedes are here to see it. “Idiot,” he sniffles. “Like it’s your fault.”

Mercedes smiles sadly. “It’s a good thing Miklan came with me, or I think you would probably murder him yourself.”

The thought of _Miklan_ of all fucking people stalking Sylvain in the fucking afterlife makes Felix’s blood boil. “He isn’t--”

“No. Don’t worry, he’s not bothering me anymore. The end of the Gautier line in one fell swoop. It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Mercedes pauses, then adds, “I don’t think I’m even supposed to be here, but… unfinished business, I suppose.” She gives Felix a crooked smile that looks so much like Sylvain’s that it’s like the man is actually sitting in front of him after all. It makes Felix’s heart clench in his chest.

He waits a moment before speaking again. He has to ask, but he’s afraid to know the answer. What if it isn’t Sylvain doing these things in his house? Annie had mentioned poltergeists, could it be one of those? Is it fucking Miklan? Glenn? He inhales deeply, then dives in. “Sylvain. The stuff going on in my apartment…” He trails off, twisting his fingers together and not meeting Mercedes’s eyes. “Is it you?”

“Yeah.” Mercedes huffs a laugh. “Does it bother you?”

Of this, Felix is sure. “Not anymore,” he says firmly, looking Mercedes in the eye.

Mercedes starts to doodle little nothing drawings on the table with a fingertip, so reminiscent of Sylvain that Felix feels tears threatening again. “I can’t do much yet,” she continues. “The door slamming… that was the hardest thing I’ve managed yet. I’m sorry, by the way.” This is addressed to Annette and Ashe, who have remained silent and wide-eyed during this entire exchange. 

Annette hurries to wave her hands. “No, no, it’s okay!” she squeaks. Felix knows her well enough to know this is kind of freaking her out. She and Ashe have never handled ghosts or the supernatural very well. For all this was her idea, she seems to be regretting it now - or would be, if Felix wasn’t here to benefit.

Mercedes turns her attention back to Felix. “Fe, you remember that promise we made when we were kids?”

As if he could ever, ever forget. Felix hadn’t seen him in days, had worried until he could barely eat or sleep, had nearly fainted with relief when Sylvain showed up on his doorstep with a cast and a strained smile. Another of Miklan’s rages, he said sheepishly, as if this was something to be ashamed about. Sylvain’s arm was broken, but he still laid it, cast heavy, across Felix’s waist as they laid in Felix’s bed with their foreheads pressed together.

 _I thought I lost you_.

A laugh, soft in the quiet. _It was just a couple of days, Fe. I’m here now_.

_Promise me we’ll stay together. Okay?_

Sylvain pulled him just a little closer, pressed a kiss to his forehead before resting them together again. _I promise. We stick together until we die_.

“I remember,” Felix says quietly.

“I think… I think that might be why I’m still here.” Mercedes bites her bottom lip, embarrassed and distressed by the way Felix’s head shoots up, his eyes widening, looking absolutely _devastated_ amidst the surprise. “No, no, don’t look at me like that, Fe, I’m sorry. I’m not blaming you. Please, just… just calm down.”

Felix grits his teeth. His sorrow is forgotten in the place of crushing, impenetrable guilt. “How do you expect me to calm down when I’m the fucking reason you’re stuck here?”

“I’m not _stuck_ here. Well, I mean, I am. But you don’t understand - I _want_ to be here. I want to be with you, Felix. However I can, however long I can. There’s nowhere I would rather be than by your side.”

He isn't prepared for this. This baring of Sylvain’s soul, this speaking of words they always left unspoken. It’s raw, honest in a way they never allowed themselves to be, and for just a moment Felix forgets that they are not alone, that these confessions have an audience, that fucking _Mercedes_ is the vessel for this confession. Instead he lets his own truth out. “I want you here. With me. As long as you can be.” It comes out stilted and awkward, like anything emotional does, but the look on Mercedes’s face, gentle and quietly overjoyed, is worth the effort.

“I’ll make myself known whenever I can. I’m working on getting stronger and doing more. Maybe someday we can actually have a conversation, y’know,” he vaguely gestures around them with a grin, and Felix suddenly remembers Annette and Ashe sitting next to them, “ _alone_. But for now, I guess I better get going. I can feel this is draining Mercedes pretty hard, and I don’t want to do any damage to her or anything.” Mercedes stretches her hand out, then seems to remember that she is not actually Sylvain and pulls it back. Sylvain knows Felix won’t reach out, not when it’s Mercedes he’s touching and not Sylvain himself. It would be too weird to hold Mercedes’s hand, anyway.

Felix feels the grief swelling back up within him at the prospect of not being able to talk to Sylvain again, going through the motions with him a presence, but not a _noticeable_ presence. He feels lonely already. “Okay,” he says. He hesitates, a thousand words dying on his tongue, and only manages another, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Mercedes says quietly, another soft, tender smile on her face. “See you later, Fe.”

And then he is gone. Mercedes closes her eyes and lets out a shuddering exhale before opening them again. Her eyes are back to normal, and her voice is as well when she smiles and says, “I’m so happy for you, Felix.”

He can’t help himself. “I would be happier if my best friend wasn’t a fucking _ghost_ ,” he snarls.

“Felix!” Annette cries. “At least thank Mercie for what she did. She didn’t have to go through all the trouble for you, you know!”

He stands, sending the chair skittering backwards. “Thanks,” he says in a gruff voice. “Now I’m leaving.”

Waiting next to the car while Ashe and Annette say their goodbyes, and probably apologize for Felix’s behavior, Felix taps his foot with his arms crossed and looks up at the sky. “Are you always here?” he mumbles, barely even audible. “Even right now?”

He suddenly feels cold, like an icy hand is running across his arm, and he almost smiles. He has his answer.

\---

Time passes. The grief isn’t gone, but it’s lessened somewhat by the knowledge of Sylvain’s proximity. At least he isn’t gone, not completely. They can’t have a conversation besides the one-sided ones Felix tends to have at night when he’s lying in bed feeling that _presence_ at his feet. Felix has on a few occasions almost considered asking Mercedes to, uh, host again, but ultimately that feels too silly, and too like invading a private moment for him to feel comfortable with it.

Occasionally, though, Sylvain makes himself known. Felix guesses he’s still figuring things out, as he said, but sometimes he manages. Mostly he makes noises - a knock here, a tap there, a sigh in Felix’s ear. Sometimes he manages something bigger. One morning Felix found his magnets arranged in a S. A different morning he found a smiley face drawn in the condensation on his bathroom mirror again.

“It’s weird that you watch me shower,” Felix had complained, and Sylvain apparently decided to comply with the unspoken request to knock it the hell off, since no other graffiti showed up on the mirror.

They fall into a routine, man and ghost, and Felix would have laughed if you had told him a month ago that this would be his life.

After three weeks, Felix returned to the gym and his work as a personal trainer. The Fraldarius name carried weight that he normally hated but which served him well when he took weeks off without repercussions. It was hard. Not only had he lost muscle mass from the grieving process, but the constant pitiful looks he was given by his coworkers made him want to scream. The only one he could handle was Caspar, the wrestling coach, who was a little too dense to get lost in societal norms. Felix could appreciate that, and _did_ appreciate that right now.

It has been almost six weeks since Sylvain’s… departure, and reappearance. Six weeks in which Felix has tried to get his shit together, for Sylvain’s sake if no one else’s. 

“I don’t think he likes seeing you like this, Felix,” Annette had said, and the series of five knocks on the coffee table confirmed it.

So he started running again. He started eating again. He dumped his sleeping pills down the drain and picked up his normal eight hours of sleep a night routine again. Occasionally he felt churlish, almost accusatory, that Sylvain and Annette could manipulate him this way. Then again, they were encouraging him to take care of himself, to live, like Sylvain no longer could, and he couldn’t begrudge them that.

Autumn is starting to pick up, and this delights Felix because it is perfect turtleneck weather. He has changed into his standard Felix fare - navy sweater, black jeans, motorcycle boots - and is exiting the gym when someone calls out behind him. 

“Hey, buddy!” 

Felix turns around with an eyebrow raised. Behind him is a man in a tracksuit that Felix belatedly realizes was one of his clients tonight. The guy is buff, muscular in ways that Felix is not, and Felix isn’t entirely sure why the man needs a personal trainer to start with. He especially doesn’t know what warrants him following Felix out into the crisp autumn air with a toothy smile.

“Do you need something?” Felix asks, adjusting his bag strap across his chest. 

The man walks closer, stopping just this side of too close, and a few alarm bells start singing in Felix’s head. “I need you to give me your number,” the man says, and his grin turns a little feral.

Those alarm bells double in intensity. “Uh, no. I won’t be doing that.” Felix turns to walk away, and he wishes he was surprised when the man grabs his arm to spin him back around. That feral grin has turned sharp, angry. 

“Why not? You’re too good for the likes of me, is that it?” He has not loosened his grip on Felix’s arm, fingers tightening to the point of pain and possible bruising. 

Felix starts to plan his escape. The guy is muscular, yeah, but Felix is slippery and strong in his own right. He can take him. He thinks. “You have five seconds to let me go,” Felix says, the warning clear in his voice.

The man does not listen. Instead he drags Felix closer with his iron grip, his other hand burying in Felix’s ponytail and yanking hard. Felix’s head jerks back and he grits his teeth against the whimper of pain that threatens to escape him. The man spins them around and slams Felix’s back against the wall of the gym. He gets up in Felix’s face, still holding his head back so his neck is exposed, and then licks a disgusting line up the column of Felix’s throat.

Felix tenses, horrified but ready to act. His arms are free; he is going to punch this son of a bitch in the jaw and possibly land him in the hospital afterwards. He clenches his fist as the man finishes his tongue’s journey, preparing to strike, but he doesn’t get a chance.

“Get the _fuck_ away from him!” a voice, a _familiar_ voice, shouts. The man goes flying six feet backwards, losing his footing and tumbling to the ground. He goes to sit up but is slammed down with his back against the asphalt. He starts to choke, sounding like someone is stepping on his windpipe, and Felix takes a step forward.

“Sylvain!” The man stops choking for a minute. Felix can suddenly see Sylvain clear as day, radiating fury, his boot on the man’s neck, eyes blazing. “I think he gets the message,” Felix says. Not that he doesn’t want the jackass to suffer, but he _also_ doesn’t want to go to jail for assault and battery that he didn’t even commit. 

“He doesn’t deserve your mercy,” Sylvain spits. “He deserves this.” The man’s head snaps to the side, his cheekbone already bruising from the force of Sylvain’s fist.

“He does,” Felix agrees. “But I’m not trying to get arrested, so just chill, okay?”

“He deserves--wait.” Sylvain stands straight again, facing Felix, the man momentarily forgotten. “You’re talking to me like you can hear me.”

“I _can_ hear you, idiot.”

Sylvain blinks twice. “You can?” He looks completely baffled, running a hand through his hair. “But--”

The man on the ground groans and looks like he’s about to get back up, and Sylvain apparently is not having any of that nonsense. He lands another series of punches and the man goes blessedly unconscious. That taken care of, Sylvain walks over to Felix.

“How?” he wonders aloud.

Felix shrugs. “I don’t know. That dude was on me, and the next thing I knew I heard you shouting at him.” He pulls his sleeve down over his hand and wipes at his neck, trying to get the feeling of the man licking him off his skin. “I guess I should thank you,” he continues begrudgingly. “But just so you know, I had it under control.”

Sylvain grins. The sight of that grin after all these weeks makes a spot in Felix’s chest expand and warm. “Of course you did, sweetheart,” Sylvain says, voice sugary.

“ _Don’t_ call me that,” Felix grouses, crossing his arms, looking away, and to his eternal embarrassment turning bright pink.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sylvain laughs. “I won’t do it again.” He pauses, then lifts a hand, and Felix can feel his hair ruffle the slightest bit. “Are you okay?” he asks softly.

“You worry too much. I’m not some delicate flower.” Felix _is_ rattled though, and he knows Sylvain can tell, which makes him even more rattled. He pulls his hair tie loose, then redoes his ponytail. Sylvain watches him like Felix putting up his hair is the most tragic moment of Sylvain’s existence and Felix almost, but not quite, barks out a laugh.

Sylvain steps back, enough that Felix doesn’t feel crowded by his presence but still close enough to touch (or try to touch, in his case). “Well anyway, this is good news. You can see and hear me. I don’t need to knock anymore! Just think, it’ll be just like old times. Y’know, except for the whole ghost thing.”

He’s going to be insufferable, Felix thinks, and he can’t help his little hidden smile.

\---

Life is better with Sylvain in it. Felix always knew this, even as crazy as Sylvain sometimes made him, but he never said as much to the man himself. He still doesn’t. He has never been a man of many words to start with, and words about his _feelings_ come even harder. But he suspects Sylvain knows. He always has.

At first it makes him vaguely uncomfortable, particularly now that he can actually see him, that Sylvain follows him everywhere. To work. On the train. To Annette’s house. To the little coffee shop they used to go to together that he only keeps going to because of the memories associated with it. He always has a dead shadow, but as he gets used to everything else, he eventually gets used to this too.

Not to say it’s easy. Just as in life, in death Sylvain cannot keep his goddess-damned mouth shut for one fucking second, so Felix has to endure nonstop commentary on the most mundane of happenings. This was bad enough back then, but now Felix can’t respond, can’t even mutter an annoyed “shut up” without people looking at him like he’s lost his mind. He hopes that the silent glares he gives his ghostly passenger suffice, but judging by the fact Sylvain never does shut up, Felix isn’t sure how effective they are.

“Do you _have_ to comment on every fucking thing that happens?” Felix asks him one day, annoyed beyond measure at Sylvain going _on and on_ about this random fucking dog they passed on the street.

Sylvain gives him a wide grin. “I don’t want you to forget I’m here, is all,” he replies.

As if Felix could ever, ever forget.

The worst part, Felix thinks, is that Sylvain has forgotten how not to flirt at every fucking person who he passes. Only, the person in question can’t hear him, so he flirts for Felix’s nonexistent amusement. The endless comments about this person’s ass and this person’s amazing biceps and how short that girl’s skirt was chafe endlessly at Felix’s patience, until he yells at Sylvain about that too. For Sylvain’s part, he seems considerably shamed and stops. Felix only feels moderately guilty afterwards.

One day, a couple of weeks after Sylvain made himself properly known, Felix gets a call from Rodrigue. He doesn’t answer it, but then he calls again and Felix answers with a gruff, “What do you want?”

“Hello, son. It’s nice to hear your voice,” Rodrigue says.

“I’m busy. What do you want?”

Rodrigue does not seem put off by Felix’s attitude - nor should he be, since Felix has been acting this way since Glenn died. He continues as though Felix had said nothing at all. “I just wanted to let you know that the Gautiers brought a few of Sylvain's things to Dimitri. I suppose they didn’t realize you were close, since you didn’t attend the funeral like everyone else did.”

Felix holds the phone so tight that the case creaks. The fucking Gautiers. They probably did it precisely because they _did_ know how close Felix and Sylvain were. Felix wouldn’t put it past them, the fucking assholes. 

The shot about not attending the funeral is just a dull ache after the news about Sylvain’s things being given to _the boar_ of all fucking people.

“Anyway,” Rodrigue continues when he doesn’t get a response. “Dimitri insisted that you come over to sort through them. I thought perhaps you could stay for a family dinner afterwards.”

“I won’t be doing that,” Felix says without hesitation. “I’ll call Dimitri myself. You don’t need to play messenger.”

“Well, he was afraid you wouldn’t pick up,” Rodrigue says archly. “I will leave you two to make the arrangements, then. I hope I will see you soon.” He hangs up.

Felix curls up in bed on his side with his eyes closed and a deep frown on his face. His phone lies forgotten on the bed next to him.

“Your dad is kind of a dick, isn’t he?” Sylvain asks. He climbs into bed with Felix, also lying on his side, his cold, cold hand resting on Felix’s between their bodies. Felix would smile if he wasn’t so damn miserable; Sylvain always did know when Felix needed touch - such as it is. It’s grounding.

“Nothing new,” Felix mutters, his eyes still closed. His emotions are boiling, but Sylvain’s presence soothes him. “I guess I have to call the boar now.”

“It can wait,” Sylvain says. “My stuff isn’t going anywhere. And who needs stuff when you have the man himself right here?” 

Felix can hear his grin and huffs a laugh. “I guess you’re right.”

They are quiet for a while, the purring of Jan at Felix’s feet the only sound in the room. After a while, Sylvain breaks the silence. “Fe?”

“Hm?”

“You know I love you, right?”

Felix’s eyes fly open. Well, yes, he had sort of assumed, but to hear it outright makes his pulse kick up doubletime. Sylvain is looking at him with an open, vulnerable expression, and does he really think Felix doesn’t love him back? Especially when Felix had outright said so, back before he knew Sylvain was haunting him?

Something about hearing the words out loud punch Felix in the gut.

Sylvain starts to look worried, no doubt at Felix’s silence. “Fe?” he asks in a small voice.

“Well obviously I feel the same,” Felix grumbles, looking anywhere but at Sylvain. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Felix can practically feel the happiness radiating in equal parts with the cold off of Sylvain. He scoots closer, freezing cold air washing over Felix from his proximity, but Felix doesn’t mind. It’s just another way of being touched, and with Sylvain? Felix never did mind.

\---

Sylvain has been quiet.

Felix doesn’t mind the quiet - prefers it, in fact. He is comfortable enough in his own skin that silence doesn’t bother him. Sylvain, however, always needed noise to drown out his thoughts. He never said as much, but Felix was familiar enough with his cycles of self-loathing and destructive behavior to recognize the need for sound. He always got particularly rambunctious, setting his music too loud or playing both the TV and Spotify while playing a video game. 

So now, when Sylvain is quiet, Felix worries.

It could be the ghost thing, he supposes. Maybe the afterlife has given him some sense of peace. But then, if that was the case, he wouldn’t still be haunting Felix, would he? Maybe, instead, Sylvain is trying to be respectful of Felix, knowing that he can’t really respond to an invisible conversation partner when he’s on the train. But… that doesn’t track, either. Sylvain is thoughtful, but not _that_ kind of thoughtful. Felix wouldn’t put it past him to chatter incessantly the whole way, because Sylvain was always a man who loved to hear himself talk.

He pushes his way off the train and it is only when he is ascending into the daylight that he realizes Sylvain might not even be here. Felix hasn’t felt his presence for a while now, so maybe he’s… doing whatever ghosts do when they’re not haunting their - what, boyfriend? Is that what they are now? The thought makes him smirk, because of all their friends, Felix would definitely be the one everyone would pick as Most Likely To Have A Ghost Boyfriend. Mostly due to his aversion to touching.

It’s not that he doesn’t like to be touched, exactly. It’s just that he doesn’t like to be touched by anyone other than a _very specific_ and _very small_ subset of people. He can handle hugs from his friends. He shys away from hugs from his father. He doesn’t like to shake hands and feels infinitely grateful that his job as a personal trainer only requires the most perfunctory of touches. 

He can tell that Sylvain, who touched _everybody all the time_ , is going crazy being unable to touch anyone, particularly Felix, particularly given the turn their relationship has taken. Every once in a while when he concentrates really, _really_ hard, he can do it, but it’s not the same for either Sylvain or Felix like it was when Sylvain was alive.

His thoughts are too heavy for dinnertime on a Wednesday evening. Felix shakes his head as if to clear it and digs for his key when his apartment building comes into view. He almost has to laugh at himself. He has grown so accustomed to Sylvain’s presence that he feels almost bereft without it. Unbidden and unwelcome, he finds himself desperately wishing Sylvain will be home waiting for him, lounging on the couch with a wide grin and a happy, “Welcome home, Fe.”

When he slides his key into the lock and enters the apartment, Sylvain is there, which is a relief. What is not a relief is the way he looks totally harassed, pacing in tight circles in the living room and occasionally running his hand through his hair rough enough that were he alive, he’d probably be tearing some out at the roots. He doesn’t even notice Felix has come home, so Felix closes the door louder than usual and makes an inordinate amount of noise putting all his things away and locking the door.

“Oh, Felix,” Sylvain says, voice tight as he stops pacing. “You’re home.”

“You weren’t with me today,” Felix says, forgoing any pleasantries as is his way. 

For his part, Sylvain looks guilty. He rubs the back of his neck and looks away. “Uh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

Felix crosses his arms over his chest. “Why weren’t you there?”

Sylvain tries method number one: playfulness. He plasters a grin on his face and spreads his arms. “Why Felix, did you miss me?”

“Why weren’t you there?” Felix demands again.

Sylvain tries method number two: flirting. He steps over to Felix and leans in close to his ear. “Do you need me around all the time, Felix? Sometimes I _do_ have other things to do, but I will always make time for you, baby.”

Felix steps back, eyes blazing. “Stop it and answer me.”

Heaving a sigh, Sylvain turns so that his profile is to Felix, running a hand through his hair again. “I can’t come watch you at the gym anymore,” he says quietly, every word sounding like it’s been wrenched out of him.

“Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“Sylvain.”

Spinning around to face him, Sylvain has fire in his eyes. Fire and self-hatred. “Because it kills me to see you in your gym outfit, touching people who aren’t me, interacting with people who are _alive_ and can give you what you need. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not alive, Felix. I can’t give you what you want. What you deserve. I can’t touch you. I can’t make you dinner in the evening and hold you at night. I’m just a fucking ghost.”

Felix listens to this tirade quite patiently, he thinks, before he bursts out with a, “You really are an idiot, aren’t you? Goddess, even death hasn’t given you the slightest bit of sense.”

Sylvain blinks. “What?”

“If I wanted some nameless moron to cook me dinner and hold me at night, do you think I would spend a second encouraging you to stick around? Wondering why you’re not with me when you’re gone?” He pauses, the next words sticking in his throat as he deals with his pesky fucking _feelings_. “Wanting you with me, always, because I fucking… care?”

This declaration apparently catches Sylvain completely off guard. His mouth drops open and he blinks owlishly as if Felix has sprouted another head and set of arms. “Felix,” he breathes. “Do you really mean that?”

Felix looks off to the side, the blush high on his cheeks. “Of course I do, and you are a bigger idiot than I ever thought if you don’t believe it.”

Sylvain walks forward until Felix can feel the cold radiating off him. He sighs softly and lifts a hand. Felix can feel a draft of freezing cold air caress his cheek before Sylvain drops his hand again. “I really wish I could hug you right now,” Sylvain says softly.

“Yeah, well,” Felix hedges, still not meeting Sylvain’s eyes. He would rather die than admit he wishes the same thing. “You can’t, so get out of my way and let me shower.”

Sylvain smiles. “Sure thing, Fe. Whatever you want.”

\---

Felix has never been self-conscious about his body. He’s athletic, muscular without being bulky, his strength in his speed and agility. He’s more than aware that sometimes he turns heads. He just doesn’t care. That lack of caring extends to his time at the gym, as evidenced by the fact that today, being alone in the locker room and not really caring if that changes in the next five minutes, he saunters out of the showering area buck-ass naked and strides over to his locker without a care in the world. It doesn’t occur to him that Sylvain might be watching, but Sylvain _is_ watching, as evidenced by the startled cough that echoes from behind him.

“Felix!” Sylvain’s voice is oddly choked. “What are you doing? Someone might come in!”

Throwing a look over his shoulder, Felix shrugs and starts changing into his clothes. “So what? It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.” Sylvain doesn’t have a response to that, apparently, since he goes silent while Felix finishes putting his clothes on.

He stays silent during the train ride home, and while Felix makes dinner. Felix doesn’t push him, not at first. But after a while he feels like the silence is _saying something_ , so he turns to Sylvain with his hands on his hips and demands, “What?”

Sylvain jerks his head up as if startled. “What what?”

“You’re being weird. What’s wrong?”

After a few moments tick by without an answer, Felix finds himself getting more and more annoyed. Finally, Sylvain says, “I can’t come to the gym with you anymore.”

“What the fuck, Sylvain. We’ve already been through this. I don’t want someone else and--”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Sylvain interrupts. 

“Then spit it out. What do you mean?”

Sylvain rubs a hand over his eyes. “I can’t… if I have to watch you in your short shorts and fitted tank top with your _legs_ and your _neck_ I am officially going to combust and you won’t have to deal with me anymore because I will have evaporated or possibly gone to hell.”

Felix blinks. Once. Twice. Slow comprehension is dawning on him. “Wait a second,” he says, and he feels a bubble of near-hysterical laughter in his throat. “Are you saying you’re _perving_ on me?”

“You make it sound so crass,” Sylvain complains.

Despite himself, Felix barks a laugh. He immediately covers his mouth with his hand and tries to stifle any further laughter, because Sylvain has a look approaching hurt and Felix doesn’t like it. Still, he can’t really help himself. “You really are insatiable, aren’t you? Even death hasn’t stopped you.”

Sylvain covers up his emotions with humor, as always. “Only for you, baby,” he says with a wink. 

This is the part where Felix would smoosh a hand against his face and tell him to shut up, and Felix even makes a move to do it before remembering that his hand would pass right through - a phenomenon that weirds Felix out even now. Instead he rolls his eyes. “What would you even get out of it?” he asks, genuinely curious. “It’s not like I can touch you or get you off or whatever.”

“True,” Sylvain says thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I just can’t help myself, that’s all. Maybe I am insatiable.” His voice is wry and tight: that old self-hatred rearing its ugly head.

“Stop that,” Felix says at once, seeing where Sylvain is headed and eager to cut him off from that train of thought. “Look, if… if you were... “ He trails off, a bright pink flush spreading across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears. “I’m just saying,” he tries again. “If I could touch you, I wouldn’t be… opposed.”

Sylvain breaks into a sunny smile, and Felix has to wonder what kind of power he has to make Sylvain do such a complete 180. “I’m glad, Fe. I really am.”

“Yeah, well,” Felix says, looking away, with the blush still high on his cheeks. “Maybe I’m insatiable too.”

\---

Felix comes out of the shower and heads into his room, keeping the door closed for some semblance of privacy. He digs around in his dresser for some clothes to wear and starts to get dressed. Only, when he is hopping on one leg trying to get his skinny jeans on, Jan winds around his ankles with a plaintive meow. He wobbles and goes crashing to the side, smacking into the dresser hard enough to bruise before he crumbles on the floor with one leg in his jeans and the other out.

“Felix?!” comes Sylvain’s voice beyond the door. “Felix, are you okay?”

All Felix can manage is a woozy, “Mrrrrr.” He’s definitely going to have a lump on his head, he just knows it.

“Okay, I’m coming in,” Sylvain announces. A moment later, there is a heavy thud echoing from beyond the bedroom door. “What the hell?” Sylvain says a moment later, sounding utterly confused.

Pulling himself up to a sitting position, he spares Jan a murderous glance before looking curiously at the door. “Sylvain?”

His only response is a tapping, then a thud, then more tapping. “No fucking way,” Felix hears Sylvain breathe. “Felix?”

“Yeah?”

“I think this is about to be the best day of my ghostly life.”

“...What?”

The door swings open. There is something different about Sylvain, but Felix can’t place it. Sylvain walks over to him; this is not unusual, as Sylvain has taken to “walking” everywhere as opposed to floating so as not to freak Felix out. When Sylvain leans down, grabs Felix by each arm, and tugs him to his feet, Felix blinks in surprise. But when Sylvain tilts his head down and presses his lips to Felix’s, when he _kisses_ Felix for the first time in either of his lives, Felix can’t even register what’s happening for a full 15 seconds or so. 

But those 15 seconds go by, and Felix doesn’t even question it in favor of grabbing Sylvain by the waist and pulling him closer, closing his eyes and losing himself in the kiss. Sylvain slides one hand into Felix’s wet hair and the other around him to press against the small of his back.

It’s… weird. Sylvain is cold to the touch and initially it feels a little bit like making out with a corpse, and for a moment Felix remembers that technically Sylvain _is_ a corpse. But he’s also Sylvain, which makes Felix warm enough for the both of them. There’s also a kind of frisson like little jolts of static electricity everywhere they are touching that is… well, pretty nice if Felix is being honest.

Felix does, however, realize he is in his bedroom, Jan sitting and judging them silently from the bed, one leg in and one leg out of his jeans, making out with his dead boyfriend, and it is this realization that makes him pull back from the kiss. He looks at Sylvain, wide-eyed, and breathlessly asks, “What the fuck?”

Sylvain breaks into the widest grin Felix thinks he has ever seen. “You know what today is, Fe?”

Felix searches his memory for important anniversaries and comes up blank. “Uhh?”

“It’s Halloween!” Sylvain exclaims. He has slipped his arms comfortably around Felix’s waist to hold him close, and somewhere along the line Felix draped his arms over Sylvain’s shoulders. “You know, when the veil between the living and dead is thin and everything! We have a whole day where I can touch you as much as I want!”

Sylvain looks positively overjoyed and yes, Felix is _excited_ in a way he seldom is. This seems too good to be true, but that doesn’t stop Felix from stretching up to press his lips to Sylvain’s again. Sylvain makes a happy little noise into his mouth before pressing them tightly together. They lose themselves again for what feels like minutes and minutes before Felix pulls away a second time. This does not stop Sylvain from dropping his head to rest their foreheads against each other, his eyes still closed.

“I knocked myself out when I hit the dresser, didn’t I?” Felix murmurs, because there is no way this is real. The goddess never grants favors like this. 

“I promise you didn’t,” Sylvain says quietly, not wanting to break the soft moment they are sharing. “Oh, Fe. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy. Being so close to you and never being able to touch you properly… it was the worst kind of torture.”

Felix pulls back and Sylvain opens his eyes. One of Felix’s rare genuine smiles is on his lips, but it’s tinged with amusement. “That’s because you’re a slut,” he says.

“Felix!” Sylvain exclaims, but he dissolves into laughter that they share, holding each other tight. “Well, since you mention it…” Sylvain begins once their laughter has died down. “We _could_ make use of this opportunity.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Felix says incredulously. “You’ve realized you’re corporeal for what, half an hour, and you’re already thinking about sex?”

“I’m just saying,” Sylvain pouts. “We might not get this opportunity again.”

“Until next Halloween,” Felix points out.

“Feeeelix! That’s a whole year away!”

It’s not that Felix is opposed. It’s not even like this is the first sexual thing they’ve done; Sylvain has watched and talked Felix through more masturbatory sessions than Felix likes to admit. It’s just that he feels like them falling into bed together shouldn’t be the _first_ thing they do.

Then again, they spend all the rest of their time together doing “normal” things, so why wouldn’t the one thing they never can do together be the first thing they do?

“I’m not going to pressure you,” Sylvain says gently, taking Felix’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt his head up. He presses a chaste kiss to Felix’s lips. “I won’t do anything you aren’t comfortable with. I promise.”

Of course Sylvain would pull back now, thinking Felix is uncomfortable. Little does he know. “You talk too much, you know that?” Felix says, but there’s no bite to it. He grabs a fistful of Sylvain’s hair and pulls him down to slot their mouths together again. This time it is open-mouthed and messy, tongues and lips working in concert to leave them both breathless. As the intensity increases, so do the paths of Sylvain’s wandering hands. He twists his hand in Felix’s hair again, but his other hand slips down over Felix’s ass to press them flush together. In return Felix bites Sylvain’s bottom lip and tugs gently.

“Oh, Felix,” Sylvain says on a harsh exhale as he pulls away. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He leans down and starts to mouth across Felix’s neck. He can’t possibly know that Felix’s neck is the most sensitive part of his body, can’t possibly know that the open-mouthed kisses and little bites he is scattering across Felix’s skin are making Felix light up like fireworks. Tightening his grip in Sylvain’s hair, holding him close, Felix tilts his head back so even more of his neck is on display. He can’t help the moan that escapes his lips when Sylvain bites particularly hard and then immediately follows up with his tongue to ease the sting.

Sylvain has always been a quick study.

“You like that?” Sylvain murmurs against Felix’s neck, and all Felix can do is shiver in response. Felix is quickly becoming liquid under Sylvain’s mouth and Sylvain seems to know it. He picks up Felix as easily as he would pick up a child and carries him over to the bed, the forgotten jeans trailing on the floor alongside them. Sylvain chuckles when Felix’s back hits the mattress and finally pulls the offending garment free from Felix’s leg, leaving Felix in only his boxer briefs.

“Can your clothes even come off?” Felix asks, ignoring the reminder that he is about to _fuck a ghost_. 

“Don’t ask me how, but,” Sylvain answers as he pulls his shirt up and over his head. Interestingly, it disappears the moment Sylvain stops touching it. He pulls his trousers off next and they too vanish. 

Felix chokes down a laugh when he sees the boxers Sylvain is sporting: white with red hearts patterned across it. “Did you seriously die in those?” he asks, voice tight with suppressed amusement.

“Don’t judge me,” Sylvain laughs. “I might have hooked up there, and I wanted to make a good impression. Obviously.”

“Because those ridiculous monstrosities definitely make a good impression, _obviously_ ,” Felix shoots back.

Sylvain climbs up and over Felix, bracketing his hands on either side of his head and kneeling on either side of his hips. “Are they making a good impression now?” he asks, sly. Undoubtedly he is watching Felix’s flush travel down his neck to his shoulders. Felix has never been good about hiding his physical tells, and Sylvain knows it.

“Shut up.” Felix decides that they have done enough talking and lifts his leg to hook an ankle around the back of Sylvain’s thighs. He tugs until Sylvain is pressed to him, their clothed cocks rubbing together with the movement. Felix can’t help but groan, but he is gratified to hear that Sylvain groans too.

Sylvain rolls his hips and the slide of them together makes Felix see stars. There is a part of him that feels like it is floating outside of himself, a combination of _sex with my ghost boyfriend_ and _sex with Sylvain, finally, after all these years, oh goddess_ playing out in his head. Sylvain twists his fingers in Felix’s hair with a soft smile - too soft, given the friction between them. “I always loved your hair, you know.”

“I know,” Felix says. He has a whole list of things he loves about Sylvain, but he won’t utter a single one of them right now because if Sylvain keeps fucking _talking_ and making _Felix_ talk, he will boil over with frustration. “Can’t you put your mouth to better use?”

Felix is met with a feral grin. “Impatient, aren’t you? Sorry sweetheart, but I’ve been waiting years for this. I’m not going to rush it. I want to treat you the way you deserve.” Before Felix can protest, Sylvain is kissing him again, starting off soft but increasing in intensity over time. All the while he keeps up the roll of his hips, smiling against Felix’s mouth when he feels the wet spot blooming across the front of Felix’s underwear. When Felix is practically panting into Sylvain’s mouth, Sylvain pulls away and sits up, resting on Felix’s thighs. “Can you be patient for me, Fe?”

Felix’s instinct is to say no just to be contrary, but, he thinks, Sylvain has a point. They have been waiting years, and this could be their one chance in who knows how long. Doesn’t he want it to last? He fights the urge to cross his arms over his chest, but he does look away and pout, just a little bit. “Fine,” he says gruffly, and he can see the way Sylvain lights up from the corner of his eye.

“You’re so good,” Sylvain purrs. He runs his hands over Felix’s shoulders, down his arms, across each finger, then back up. His hands continue running across Felix’s chest, pausing to tweak each nipple - which earns him a satisfying groan - before moving down over his abs and sides. “You really are beautiful, you know,” Sylvain says, and his voice is soft, reverent. 

“Shut up,” Felix says without heat, more embarrassed than anything.

Sylvain hooks his fingers into Felix’s underwear and tugs, until they are on the floor and Felix’s cock is sitting full and stiff against his belly, oozing precum. He drags a single fingertip up the underside of Felix’s shaft and smirks, cocky, when Felix shivers beneath him. But then Sylvain bypasses Felix’s cock completely, continuing his hands’ journey down his thighs, over his knees, across his calves, down and around both feet. 

Felix has never felt more worshipped in his fucking life.

Sylvain’s hands are replaced by his mouth. He trails kisses along Felix’s skin, leaving little sparks in his wake, pausing to bite the inside of Felix’s thigh or run his tongue in circles around Felix’s nipples. He spends special time on Felix’s neck, and Felix steadily becomes completely boneless under Sylvain’s ministrations, more turned on than he thinks he has ever been. He is so hard it’s almost painful, but Sylvain keeps taking his time.

As Sylvain lifts one of Felix’s legs to rest on his shoulder, he presses a kiss to Felix’s ankle. “You’re being so good for me,” he murmurs. “I think it’s time to treat you, don’t you?”

“It’s been time,” Felix grouses, but as usual, he doesn’t really mean the bite that accompanies the words.

Sylvain only chuckles at his impatience, bastard that he is. He drops Felix’s leg and crawls forward, each of Felix’s thighs resting over his shoulders. _Finally_ he pays attention to Felix’s dick, taking him in hand and stroking slowly. It’s too slow by half, Felix could never get off from it, but having any contact after this much teasing makes him feel like fireworks are exploding behind his eyelids. The fact that Sylvain is also worrying little bruises on the inside of Felix’s thighs with his teeth might have something to do with it.

Felix always wanted to get marked up by Sylvain. He didn’t think it would happen like _this_ , but he’s not complaining, really.

(He’ll complain later when he’s horny and Sylvain is being insufferable and also is a _fucking ghost_ again.)

“Hnng, Sylvain,” Felix moans when Sylvain swipes his thumb around the head, smearing precum over his skin. His head is tilted back and eyes closed, so he can’t see Sylvain’s cat-got-the-canary grin, but he knows it’s there.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Sylvain murmurs. He abandons Felix’s thighs and licks up Felix’s shaft, long and slow. But when he takes Felix into his mouth, Felix’s eyes fly open and his eyebrows draw together.

“Wait, stop,” Felix chokes out. 

Sylvain pulls off him in an instant, looking up at him with worry in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Swallowing hard, Felix tries to think. How can he possibly put this without upsetting Sylvain? “It’s… cold,” he mumbles, not looking at Sylvain. _Clammy_ is a better word for it, kind of like being blown by a fish, but he won’t go that far. He is now aware that on the list of “what makes a bad blowjob,” is “being dead.”

“...Oh.” Sylvain drops his gaze, frowning. “Yeah, I guess it would be, wouldn’t it.” It’s not a question. He sounds so defeated and Felix’s erection is flagging and wait, this isn’t how Felix wanted this to go _at all_ , how can he salvage this…

“Come here,” Felix says, reaching down a hand. Sylvain hesitates, but eventually laces their fingers together and scoots up so that he is lying next to Felix, pressed against his side. He holds their hands against his chest like they are something precious. “This is all new,” he says quietly, rubbing his thumb over Sylvain’s knuckles.

“Yeah, it is,” Sylvain agrees in a broken voice. He won’t meet Felix’s eyes, and Felix knows the current of self-loathing that is running through him right now, as if being _dead_ is somehow his fault.

“I mean, we never slept together… before. And then to do it when you’re, uh--”

“Dead,” Sylvain sniffles.

“Yeah. That. It’s just something else new. We just have to get used to it, okay? I still want to try if you do. We just have to, uh, be more creative.” _Please let this work_ , Felix thinks desperately. _I’m not a therapist for the fucking dead_.

Carefully, Sylvain lifts Felix’s hand to his mouth and presses his lips to it. “Okay. Okay, I can do that. Sorry, love.”

“Don’t apologize, idiot,” Felix says, relief flooding through him. “You act like I don’t want this too.”

Sylvain finally breaks into a smile at that. “Kills you to admit it, doesn’t it?” he grins.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

So he does. Sylvain keeps his hold on Felix’s hand but slithers his other arm around Felix’s waist to pull him close. The kiss starts slow - now that the atmosphere has been basically ruined, they have to start over. It seems like Sylvain is being ultra careful now, like he’s scared of making Felix uncomfortable again. 

Felix isn’t having it.

With a low growl, Felix swings a leg over Sylvain’s and tightens his grip. He wraps his free arm around Sylvain’s back and pulls him closer, maneuvering him until he is basically sprawled half on top of Felix. This thankfully spurs Sylvain into action. The kiss deepens, heats up, and despite the cold, when Sylvain pries apart Felix’s lips with his tongue and their tongues meet, Felix isn’t bothered. 

_This is Sylvain_ , Felix hazily reminds himself. _Nothing else matters_.

The fact that Sylvain is dead doesn’t even cross his mind when Sylvain reaches between them and starts to stroke Felix’s cock again, coaxing him back into hardness. The fact that Sylvain is anything other than _here_ and _present_ and _licking his neck_ doesn’t even register when Sylvain moves down and starts to litter a trail of love bites across Felix’s collarbones. 

Felix has never been a loud lover, but when Sylvain leans in to whisper in his ear, “Let me hear you, Fe,” he can’t help the low moan that escapes his lips. His hips are jerking forward practically of their own volition, moving counterpoint to the steady strokes of Sylvain’s hand. 

He can feel himself soaring, soaring, climbing the peak and so close to falling over the edge. As shocks of electricity race up and down his spine, he grips Sylvain’s hand hard. “Sylvain, I--”

“Do you want to come like this?” Sylvain asks from his position mouthing over Felix’s neck.

“Nng, yes, _please_.” Felix vaguely registers that it’s a good thing Sylvain can’t feel pain, because he is squeezing Sylvain’s hand hard enough that his bones would creak, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline. His other arm is flung across his eyes, and his head is tilted back while he chews on his bottom lip.

Sylvain sucks another mark onto Felix’s neck and then kisses the spot below his ear before murmuring in the most unfairly sexy voice, “Come for me, sweetheart.”

It’s that, that stupid endearment that Sylvain has probably used with a thousand people before Felix, that endearment Felix would never _ever_ admit that he loves, that does it. White explodes behind Felix’s eyes as he comes possibly harder than he has in his fucking life, shooting across his and Sylvain’s stomachs both. Sylvain strokes him through it, until he touches Sylvain’s wrist to stop because it’s too sensitive. 

Sylvain lifts his hand to his lips and licks Felix’s cum off it with a cheshire smile. “Mm,” he says appreciatively. 

Felix lifts his arm enough to look at Sylvain suspiciously. “Do you even have taste anymore?”

“Well.” Sylvain has the decency to look embarrassed. “Not as such. But I have a good imagination.”

“Hmph.” 

They still haven’t untwined their fingers. Felix isn’t in a rush to; he might not admit as such out loud, but the ability to actually touch Sylvain means just as much to both of them. He does, however, grumble when Sylvain pulls his arm from the front of his face. Sylvain laughs softly and presses a kiss to the scrunched up spot between Felix’s eyebrows. 

For the moment, Sylvain seems content to pepper kisses along Felix’s face - his cheeks, his lips, his chin, his eyelids. He trails his free hand over Felix’s skin - his arm, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. It feels like he is trying to commit all of Felix’s body to memory, and, Felix thinks, he probably is. Slowly Felix unravels from his high, made boneless again by Sylvain’s touch.

But he hasn’t forgotten that he’s the only one who’s gotten off, and a couple of minutes later, Sylvain makes it clear that he hasn’t, either.

“Fe?”

“Mm?”

“I want to try something. Do I have your permission?”

Felix scowls. “I’m not going to grant permission without even knowing what you’re planning to do,” he gripes.

With his normal charming smile, Sylvain tweaks one of Felix’s nipples. “I think you’ll like it,” he says, still so goddess-damned mysterious. “But you have to trust me.”

A number of scenarios flash through Felix’s head, and he has to admit not all of them are pleasant judging by his blowjob experience. 

“I promise to stop if you don’t like it, though,” Sylvain adds, as if he can read Felix’s mind.

“...Fine,” Felix huffs.

Breaking into a delighted grin, Sylvain finally unclasps their hands and moves to sit upright next to Felix. “You’re so good for me, Fe,” he says warmly. “Now get on your hands and knees, okay?”

 _Uh oh_. This was distinctly one of the scenarios Felix didn’t want to see come to fruition. _I can ask him to stop if it sucks_ , he reminds himself. _He won’t mind. This is Sylvain_. He flips over and positions himself on his hands and knees as requested. It feels ridiculous, displaying his ass like this, but Sylvain asked so he couldn’t exactly deny him.

He shudders when Sylvain runs cool hands over each cheek and exhales softly. “Goddess, you have no idea how much your ass has tormented me all these years.” Sylvain leans forward and presses a kiss to the small of Felix’s back. “Those skinny jeans really work for you, you know?”

“You’re an idiot,” Felix says without heat. He pulls a pillow over and crosses his arms under it, resting his head, and this, he knows, makes his ass stick out even more. Despite his hesitation, he is admittedly curious as to what Sylvain has in mind. 

Sylvain shuffles close, running his hands up and down in slow strokes over the planes of Felix’s back. Felix can feel Sylvain’s hard length pressed against his ass, but for the moment Sylvain seems preoccupied with Felix’s skin - again. He runs both hands down Felix’s sides, then slips one arm around his waist so he can stroke gently down Felix’s cock. 

Felix is mortified to discover that it only takes a few long strokes for him to grow hard again in Sylvain’s hand. Sylvain, however, is apparently delighted. “I told you you would enjoy it,” he murmurs.

“You haven’t even done anything yet,” Felix snipes back. 

He hears rather than sees Sylvain’s wicked smirk. “Yet,” he agrees. With a hand on either of Felix’s legs, Sylvain maneuvers his legs closer, until his thighs are pressed together. Felix feels a spark flare deep in his belly. He thinks he knows where Sylvain is headed with this, now, and he is definitely _interested_.

Sylvain takes his cock in hand and drags it over Felix’s ass, leaving smears of precum on Felix’s skin. Then he slides it down, down, over Felix’s hole and down even more, until he pushes forward and slides his cock between Felix’s thighs. He groans, low and loud, as his cock nudges against Felix’s balls. “Goddess, Fe, you feel so good,” he says in a half-moan.

Felix’s tongue is thick in his mouth. He bites his lip to try in vain to keep himself quiet as Sylvain starts to thrust in earnest, the friction making his cock almost feel warm - which Felix is downright delighted by. He is further delighted when Sylvain grips his hip hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises, and reaches around with his free hand to start stroking Felix in time with his thrusts. 

Sylvain has always been a chatty motherfucker, and Felix should have known that he would be no different during sex. A constant litany of “Oh _Felix_ ” and “you feel _amazing_ ” and “you take me so _well_ ” and on and on and on pours out of Sylvain as he increases the urgency and force of his thrusts. Felix is embarrassingly close to coming again already, but from the way Sylvain’s voice has gone tight, he thinks he’s not alone. 

He is proven right when Sylvain gasps, “Fe, I’m close, oh _goddess_ ,” between a particularly loud set of moans. Sylvain leans down, chest covering Felix’s back, and scrabbles for one of Felix’s hands. Felix twines their fingers together again and arches his back sharply. It takes a handful more thrusts before Sylvain is coming with a wordless shout, spilling all over the sheets and Felix’s thighs. Felix follows him right after with Sylvain’s name on his tongue. 

Sylvain stays draped over Felix’s back for a good minute, his forehead pressed to the spot between Felix’s shoulder blades. Felix stays upright as long as he can, but the force of two orgasms has drained him of all energy. He gently shoves Sylvain over to crumble in a heap beside him, and immediately snuggles up against his chest. Sylvain drapes an arm across Felix’s waist and holds him close.

Felix is drifting, sated and relaxed, but of course Sylvain is Sylvain, and he can’t keep his mouth shut for long. “Let’s stay wrapped up together all day,” Sylvain says with a dopey smile, pulling Felix closer so he can press a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I have to eat eventually.” 

“I can feed you!” Sylvain sounds more excited about this than he has any right to, and Felix scoffs.

“Yeah right. I’m not a child.”

“Oh come on, Fe,” Sylvain wheedles. “Don’t think of it as being like a child. Think of it like us being in ancient Greece and me feeding you grapes while you lounge on a golden couch next to a fountain.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, and his voice is flat. “Except it’s a ratty blue couch next to a cat, and I don’t have any grapes.”

“You really are no fun, you know that?” 

“You love me anyway.”

Sylvain smiles, soft and fond. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

\---

The good thing about Sylvain’s things being delivered to Dimitri’s house: he doesn’t have to see his father.

The bad thing about Sylvain’s things being delivered to Dimitri’s house: he has to see Dimitri.

“It’ll be okay, Fe,” Sylvain says, his voice soft and consoling, as he watches Felix tie his hair up into a messy bun. “I thought you were sort of friends again, anyway. Aren’t you?”

Felix finishes tying his hair up with unnecessary vehemence. “I guess,” he says, but his voice says otherwise. “I don’t hate him. He just pisses me off.”

There is a whole host of reasons why Felix feels this way, and Sylvain knows about 95% of it, so Felix won’t bother rehashing his feelings. He’s not being 100% honest with himself when he says he doesn’t give a shit about Dimitri after he went nuts and had to be taken in by Felix’s father since his whole family had been decimated. He is definitely not 100% honest with himself when he says Dimitri’s friendship doesn’t matter to him, and that he doesn’t miss the way they used to be close.

It’s easier to be angry. Exhausting, but easier.

“But he is trying,” Sylvain gently points out. “You have to give him credit for that.” The only response Sylvain gets is a wordless grunt. He shrugs and lets it drop. “You’re looking awfully handsome today,” he says, trying another tack.

Felix rolls his eyes, but there is the ghost of a smile on his lips so Sylvain most likely is taking that as a win. “Come on,” he says as he stomps to the door and gets his outerwear on. “We’re going to be late.”

\---

Dimitri’s house is gorgeous and way too big for someone who lives alone. Or at least, that’s what Felix thinks until he knocks on the door, Sylvain standing at his side, and Claude of all fucking people answers. Felix blinks twice, confused and unnerved by being caught off guard. “What are you doing here?” he demands.

Claude gives him a lazy smile. “I guess you didn’t get the memo,” he drawls, leaning against the door jamb. “I kind of live here now.”

“No way! I fucking knew it, I _knew_ it!” Sylvain exclaims. 

“The fuck you did,” Felix growls, looking over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything then?”

This too is directed at Sylvain, but Claude doesn’t know that. An eyebrow quirking, Claude looks confused but answers anyway. “Dimitri kind of wanted to keep it on the down low. He did try to tell you, though. He said you’ve been dodging his calls.” The cheeky smile fades into something serious. “I know you’ve been grieving. We all handle things in our own way.”

Felix flushes, which he hates, and feels warm, which he hates even more. “Whatever,” he mumbles, looking off to the side. “Can we come in or what?”

Both of Claude’s eyebrows raise this time. “We? You got a mouse in your pocket?”

“Oh, um.” Felix goes a little wide-eyed, trying desperately to think of an excuse. He hasn’t told anyone that he can actually hear and see Sylvain now, and he doesn’t think Dimitri or Claude know about their little seance with Mercedes either. He’s not sure how he could possibly explain without sounding like an absolute lunatic, so he just shrugs. “Misspoke.”

“Right.” Claude steps back from the door and gestures with a sweeping arm. “Come on in. Dimitri’s in the spare room, organizing. He wasn’t sure what you would want, so he wanted to make sure it was in some sort of order. You know how he is.”

They head down the hall and into a room on the left. Dimitri is standing amidst a host of boxes, but Felix is relieved to see that it’s not as much as he had expected. Otherwise he wasn’t sure how he would fit everything in his apartment - and he was going to fit everything in his apartment, was going to make it _their_ home instead of his, not that he had told Sylvain as much just yet.

“Felix!” Dimitri exclaims as if he hadn’t known Felix was coming and is surprised to see him. Maybe he is surprised Felix actually showed up. Dimitri walks over and stops in front of Felix with an aborted gesture Felix recognizes as the beginning of a hug. At least he knows enough to cut that shit out, Felix thinks.

“I’m here for Sylvain’s stuff,” Felix says gruffly, not even bothering with a hello. 

“Felix, be nice. You can do that much,” Sylvain chides from the doorway where he is lounging next to Claude.

Felix swallows hard. “Uh… thanks. For storing it for a while.”

Dimitri breaks into a smile and Felix hates that such a miniscule act of kindness lights his face up that way. Suddenly Felix feels like a bit of a jackass. He glances over at Sylvain, who gives him an encouraging thumbs up, and vows to do better.

“Of course,” Dimitri says. “Honestly, I don’t understand why the Gautiers brought these things to me. Everyone knows you were his best friend.”

Felix bites down on the instinctive “I _am_ his best friend, damnit. His best friend and more, you idiot.”

“Regardless, I tried to do some organizing. I will let you go through the boxes and decide what you want to keep. Do you need anything in the meantime? Tea, perhaps?”

“No.” Felix glances at Sylvain again, who makes a “keep going” motion with his hands. “Uh, thanks though.”

“Of course. We will be in the living room if you need us.” Dimitri, presumably buoyed by Felix’s downright warm behavior, actually claps his hand to Felix’s shoulder as he walks by and exits the room. Felix scowls after him.

Sylvain steps forward and smiles. “Nice start, Fe. I’m proud of you.”

“Shut up,” Felix grumbles. “This is all your fault anyway.”

Surprising them both, Sylvain laughs instead of shutting down into hurt silence. “I’ll try not to die and inconvenience you next time.”

Felix huffs and starts opening the boxes. There are only eight or so, and Felix and Sylvain dig through them to determine what they want to keep. Felix keeps his voice low as they talk, so hopefully Claude and Dimitri won’t hear him supposedly talking to himself. Sylvain is pretty laissez faire about the whole thing, suggesting they throw out far more than they keep. After the second box of books is opened and perfunctorily discarded, Felix crosses his arms and fixes Sylvain with a dark stare.

“Sylvain, you love your fucking books. Why are you trying to get rid of everything?”

“I guess I just care less about material things in the afterlife,” Sylvain says breezily, but stony-faced Felix obviously doesn’t believe him.

“Be honest with me.” A pause. “Please.”

Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I just feel like I’d be taking up too much space in your life. You already can’t get rid of me.” He sounds so self deprecating, like Felix would want him anywhere else, like Felix would want _less_ of him, that it hurts just to listen to, way deep down in Felix’s chest.

This is one of those times Felix desperately wishes he could hug Sylvain.

“Hey. Look at me.” Felix steps closer, until he is close enough to feel the cold radiating from Sylvain’s form. It’s weird, and he’s only done it a handful of times despite knowing that Sylvain actually really likes it, but Felix reaches out and makes a cupping motion along the curve of Sylvain’s jaw. It’s cold enough to almost hurt, but he keeps his hand there as Sylvain looks at him with half-lidded eyes. “I want you with me. All the time. Everywhere. As much as you can be. Don’t let your bullshit inner critic tell you otherwise. Listen to me, not him.” He spits it all out in a rush, knowing Sylvain needs to hear it but feeling self-conscious regardless.

“Oh, Fe,” Sylvain whispers. He makes a motion as if to rest his hand over Felix’s, and they just stand there like that for a minute. “I don’t deserve you, you know that?”

“Let me decide what I do and don’t deserve,” Felix says. He drops his hand and rubs it against his jeans to try to get some warmth back into it. “I’m not getting rid of your books. Now be honest about what you want to keep.”

It only takes them about an hour to work through Sylvain’s belongings, and once he is being honest, Sylvain only whittles them down to six boxes instead of three. They head out to the living room and Felix _still_ can’t believe it when he sees Dimitri and Claude sitting cuddled up next to each other, Claude’s arm around Dimitri’s shoulders as they talk quietly to each other with their heads close. How didn’t Felix know? Does everyone know but him?

Dimitri jumps to his feet when he sees Felix enter. His cheeks are faintly pink. “Did you have any trouble?” he asks as if he wasn’t just having a _really fucking tender moment_ with his partner. 

“When did this start?” Felix doesn’t mince words, just gestures between Dimitri and Claude with a flat look.

“Ah, well,” Dimitri says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. 

“About six months ago,” Claude answers easily for him. He stands up and walks over to Dimitri, wrapping an arm around the man’s waist and giving Felix a challenging look, _daring_ him to disapprove.

Which Felix doesn’t, of course. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s glad Dimitri wasn’t alone during… all this. “Well I’m happy for you or whatever,” Felix says, waving his hand vaguely in the air. He hears Sylvain’s snort of laughter but ignores it. He also ignores Claude’s look of surprise and Dimitri’s downright joyous smile. “Can we load up the car now?”

\---

When they have finally driven back to Felix’s apartment and unloaded the boxes, and Claude and especially Dimitri have finally departed (“Oh Felix, it’s so nice to be in your home again after so long,” Dimitri said), Felix takes a moment to sit on the couch with a harsh exhale. He tilts his head back, rests it on the cushion, and closes his eyes. He feels a cool breeze pass by and can tell that Sylvain has settled next to him.

“You okay?” Sylvain asks. “I know that was a bit much.”

“Dimitri is always a bit much,” Felix says without heat. He feels so incredibly tired. 

“Not just Dimitri, though.” Sylvain trails off, and Felix opens his eyes and tilts his head in Sylvain’s direction.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… it’s probably kind of hard to deal with the reminder of, y’know, my _situation_.” He does air quotes. 

“Mm.” Felix thinks about this. It honestly hadn’t occurred to him, but now that Sylvain mentions it, he supposes it is kind of hard to think about. He has bigger fish to fry, though, and the last thing he wants is to upset Sylvain by dwelling on it. “I guess. But it’s not a big deal.”

Sylvain looks at him incredulously and says nothing.

Felix rolls his eyes. “You think too much.” Truthfully this is one of the things Felix loves about Sylvain, but he doesn’t like when that thinking devolves into the thread of self-hatred. 

He rolls his neck, then stands up. Stretching his arms above his head and hearing his shoulders pop, he looks over at Sylvain. “I’m going to be busy for a bit. You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”

“As if I have other pressing matters to attend to?” Sylvain says wryly. His mood perks up a bit and he adds, “Besides, I like watching you.”

“Weirdo.” Felix starts systematically opening boxes, sorting things, scattering Sylvain’s belongings in a semblance of order on the floor. Then he starts putting things away into the spaces he has mentally carved out. Yes, his bookshelf is overflowing. Sure, the swords clash with the musical theatre posters. But slowly, piece by piece, the space becomes _Felix and Sylvain’s_.

Sylvain goes oddly quiet, but Felix doesn’t even spare him a glance while he’s working. He finishes up the living room. He puts Sylvain’s favorite mug in the kitchen cabinet. He sets up the chess set in the office. Sylvain follows him from room to room, silently trailing behind him, until he gets to his bedroom and starts clearing out room in his dresser.

“What are you doing?” Sylvain’s voice is tight and breathless.

“Making room,” Felix says without looking up. He’s been meaning to organize forever anyway. This is as good an excuse as any. 

“Room for what?”

Felix finally looks up at Sylvain, raising his eyebrows. “Your clothes, obviously. What else would I be making room for?”

Sylvain stares. Fidgets. Bites his lip. “Fe--”

“Don’t.” Felix holds up a hand to stop him. “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it. I know I can’t like, put you on the lease or anything, but I can make this our home. _Our_ home. Not mine.”

For a handful of seconds it really looks like Sylvain is about to burst into tears. He gives Felix a watery smile. “You really are too good to me,” he says softly. “Why my clothes, though? I can’t touch them.”

“You can on Halloween. You might be able to on other days. We don’t know yet. I’m sure you don’t want to wear the same old thing if you can help it.” Felix starts folding Sylvain’s clothes and placing them carefully next to Felix’s own. He won’t say it, but he really likes the sight of Sylvain’s t-shirts next to Felix’s turtlenecks. It’s weirdly domestic in a way he didn’t expect to enjoy.

Sylvain comes over to stand next to him and smiles, looking down into the drawer. “This is weirdly domestic,” he says. “I like it.”

Felix’s head jerks to the side and he blinks owlishly at Sylvain. “Stop that. I hate it when you say what I’m thinking.”

“Oh? Were you thinking that too?” Sylvain’s voice is light and teasing. “How was I supposed to know, Fe? I’m not a mind reader.”

“You always have known what I was thinking,” Felix grouses, looking away again. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Sylvain says fondly, and Felix can feel Sylvain’s cold hand brush ever so slightly through his ponytail. “You’re just too easy, is all.”

“Fuck you,” Felix huffs.

\---

Weeks turn into months. Months turn into years. Time goes on, and on, and on, and consummate bachelor Felix, to everyone’s surprise, never dates, never goes out except with his friends, never marries, never takes Sylvain’s things down even when his friends question him. As the years tick by and his friends pair off, he never seems jealous. No, even when everyone around him thinks he’s a little odd, sometimes catches him talking to himself and even having arguments with himself, Felix just seems… content. Content in a prickly, Felix kind of way.

It’s all Felix ever wanted to be, anyway.

And now, 59 years later, Felix lies in bed, an old man. It looks like he’s alone, but he isn’t. He never is. Even though he says nothing, can’t bring himself to say any words as his life slips away, his eyes are fixed at a point next to his bed. Slowly, slowly his eyes close, and then he is gone.

When Felix opens his eyes, there is a guiding light. There are relatives there to greet him. And, perhaps most importantly, there is Sylvain, beaming like this is the best day of his existence, holding a hand out for Felix to take. 

Felix slips his hand into Sylvain’s and stands up. Sylvain is not cold. He is not vaguely transparent. He is here and whole and real in a way he hasn’t been in so long, and Felix feels like his heart could burst when Sylvain leans forward and brushes his lips against Felix’s temple. He doesn’t let go of Felix’s hand as they turn to the light. Glenn smiles brightly in the distance and beckons for them to come forward. 

“You never broke the promise,” Felix says, looking over at Sylvain with a warmer expression than he has ever had.

“Well we didn’t die together. But we got to live together, and we’re together now, and honestly? That’s all I care about.” Sylvain squeezes his hand and gives Felix a sunny grin. “Are you ready?”

Felix nods.

Sylvain lifts their clasped hands to his lips and presses a kiss to Felix’s knuckles. “Love you, Fe.”

Swallowing down the rush of emotion that sweeps over him, Felix smiles, a real, genuine smile - the kind he always saved for Sylvain. “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely cannot thank [@prismatic_witch](https://twitter.com/prismatic_witch) for a) this prompt and b) both being my beta and saving this fic when I simply could not figure out what to do next. I love that an offhand Twitter prompt became a 17k word monster but I am so happy with how this turned out, and I hope you all are too.
> 
> Song title taken from [Kristin Hersh's _Your Ghost_](https://youtu.be/ZfW4-nP2G1Q) which definitely didn't make me cry while I was writing this, why do you ask?
> 
> Come abuse me for this nonsense on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/snarkyperson)!
> 
> EDIT: There is now the most amazing and beautiful [fanart](https://twitter.com/angeeya/status/1286398321133789184) of this story and you should absolutely go cry about it like I did!
> 
> EDIT 2: I got an [incredible piece of art](https://twitter.com/xylavie/status/1304097065115381760) commissioned for this story because I am still in love with it. Go shower it with love!


End file.
